Safety, a sequel to Asylum
by Xenitha
Summary: Scott Tracy, suffering PTSD after being tortured for the secrets of the Thunderbird aircraft, hesitantly goes on duty again, not knowing that he'll face his torturer again.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction:** A few years ago I wrote a Thunderbirds story entitled "Asylum". This is a direct sequel to that work and I recommend you read that story first. It can be found here: s/7574830/1/Asylum

**This one's for JanetM74 who asked for it!**

**Summary:** Scott Tracy, suffering PTSD after being tortured for the secrets of the Thunderbird aircraft, hesitantly goes on duty again, not knowing that he'll face his torturer again.

**Title: Safety, sequel to Asylum**

**Author: Xenitha**

**Reviews: Oh yes! Please!**

**This story takes place six months after Asylum.**

**CHAPTER 1: Recovering**

Scott Tracy's Journal:

I don't even know why I'm doing this, except that my shrink says it will help me. Anything that stops my family from giving me those looks will help. They seem to think I'll crumble in a strong wind, just because I have a few bad dreams at night.

"Yeah, well, your screaming wakes the house, Scott," Virgil said amiably, looking at the screen over my shoulder. I blanked it quickly and spun around in my desk chair, suddenly furious and ready to pound my nosy brother into the floor. I curled a fist, then opened it and let my hand drop.

Virgil watched intently. "Are you okay, Scott?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," I muttered through gritted teeth.

Virgil just nodded. "Father wants to see you in his office," he said and left.

Father was seated behind his desk, surrounded by piles of paper and files stacked neatly on the credenza. I felt suddenly guilty at the sheer workload he'd been covering lately. I used to help him with it before…But I was getting better. And maybe I should pick up some of the slack, especially since I was on leave from International Rescue. For illness, I reminded myself. Yeah, mental illness. PTSD the doctor had called it and I was no stranger to the diagnosis. Coming home from being a POW in Bereznia, I'd suffered through a few months of it. A good doctor and some meds and, okay, sheer cussedness and I got my life back. Now, it was harder somehow.

"Scott?" Dad's voice came through the fog.

"Uh…yeah Father? Virgil said you wanted to see me," I answered, taking a seat. Keep your mind in the game, Tracy!

Father frowned, brows meeting in the center. "You've been grounded for half a year now. I want you to think like the Field Commander you are and give me a report on International Rescue Operative Scott Tracy. Is he ready to return to duty?"

My immediate response of "Hell, yeah!" died before I uttered it. I could never lie to the Old Man; he could always see right through me. I pondered the question, trying to treat the question as if it were an evaluation of Gordon or Alan."

I sighed. Better keep this impersonal. "The pilot is capable of handling Thunderbird 1 competently, both physically and emotionally." Yeah, I could fly TB1 in a thunderstorm drunk to the gills with one arm missing. It's the rest of it… "However, the symptoms of PTSD and post-torture syndrome continue to affect his behavior." I wasn't sure I could be trusted in the hot seat, to run a rescue. I was so afraid, so often. Hell, a good rain storm sent me running for shelter to avoid the feeling of water running down my face, and the choking sensation of drowning. Waterboarding is such a simple torture but so hard to recover from. I breathed deep through my nose, reminding myself that I was in clear air. No water around me or on me. I was safe. "I…I can't recommend his reinstatement," I finished despairingly. "His professional judgment is still affected by the…uh…incident. He's not fit for duty."

"And this is your professional assessment?" Father asked, fixing his blue eyes on mine, drilling into my soul.

"Yes sir, it is," I replied, firming my shoulders. The mission is the most important thing, I reminded myself.

Dad leaned forward. "I disagree," he said. "While Field Commander Tracy has taken some hard knocks in the line of duty, I believe that he has had a good recovery from his injuries. He is ready for duty….No, don't interrupt!" He said as I stood up. "At this point, you need to rebuild your self-confidence, Scott. You were trapped in a terrible situation where you had no control and expected to die. That leaves a mark and I understand that," he said, shaking his head sadly.

"Night terrors are more than a mark," I said. "I don't sleep, Dad! I'm not a hundred percent and…and I may never be. I could get somebody killed with one bad decision! And besides, would they trust me to lead them after all this?" In the past six months my brothers had seen me crying in despair, screaming out in terror, blowing up with rage at a careless word. I didn't seem stable. Hell, I didn't _feel _stable. Granted, it had been hard to watch them taking off on rescues, Alan flying my beautiful bird. Give him credit, he hadn't so much as scratched the paint job. I rubbed my nose, or at least they'd patched it without my knowing about it.

"That's not what the boys tell me," Dad said. "I've asked them. They trust you as much as they ever have and have been nagging me, wanting to know when you'll be back on duty again. And then, there's this," he handed me a paper.

It was a letter from my shrink. Penny had found her and Dr. Stevens had been vetted mercilessly before she was allowed into the secret of International Rescue. The letter said that I was, cautiously, fit to fly again.

"Yes, we talked about my going back to International Rescue," I said, handing the paper back to my father. "But I don't feel…"

"You need to get back on the horse," Dad said. "You were thrown once, time to go back to it before your fear solidifies." Times like this I see the Kansas farm boy in my father. This was one of his cleaner similes, other favorites being "Shit or get off the pot" and "Never kick a cow patty on a hot day". And don't get me started on his favorite song "Moose Turd Pie".

"Is that an order?" I asked.

"It's a strong recommendation, son," he said, looking a bit disappointed that I wasn't the fearless son he'd raised anymore. I took a deep breath, duty warring with heartfelt desire. I wanted to fly! Oh, how I wanted to fly, high and fast but I couldn't let down my brothers. I wouldn't let down my brothers. No matter what, don't give up. Another of Dad's sayings.

"Okay, I'll do it. Put me back on the roster," I said.

"Good," Dad said. "In the meantime, I need to show you some procedural changes we'll be testing out that might ease your mind."

He led me to one of our conference rooms, usually fitted out with a test chamber, seating and a big screen. The table and chairs had been removed and a large aluminum panel with seat was there instead.

"Mobile Control?" I asked, looking over the instrument panel I routinely manned at rescues.

"We've been using it unchanged since International Rescue began," Father said. "I think it's not only dangerous to our operatives but obsolete."

"Obsolete? Wait a minute, you just persuaded me back on the roster! What will I be doing? How will I coordinate the rescues?" I demanded.

"You know yourself from experience how exposed you are at this station and it's unnecessary." He held up a hand as I began to sputter. "You remain Field Commander and will still make the calls. But coordinating multiple agents can be handled remotely from Thunderbird Five. Our communications have improved substantially from our early days and John can both locate and contact each operative from space. John, Brains and I worked this out during your leave."

"You've replaced me, then," I said dully.

"By no means," Father said firmly. "We need you now, more than ever! John can coordinate but only you can command. I can't do it and neither can John because we aren't physically there."

I laid a hand on the battered metal. "How will the signals travel when the team is deep underground? Mobile Control acted as a signal booster."

"We've miniaturized it and installed a booster in each Thunderbird. Two is primary but One and Four can do it just as well." He eyed me closely. "You did say that you didn't want to be shut up in a plexiglass box? You'll be leading the rescue the way you prefer—from the front. You'll be directly involved in the rescue along with your brothers, not behind a desk."

I gave Mobile Control a pat, then turned to Father. "All right. When do we unveil this?"

"The next suitable rescue, hopefully something small and uncomplicated and we'll test it. Also," he said, opening a drawer in Mobile Control. "You'll be carrying these."

"These" Were a small hand gun with a package of miniature rounds. He handed it to me and I looked it over.

"A hand gun? Dad, we already carry these."

"Look more closely, son," he said.

The gun had settings and looked like something from a science fiction show. "What are these settings about?"

"They range from stun to kill to destroy. Effectively, it's a hand laser, akin to the cutting torches we use with oxyhydnite. More powerful than the one Virgil used on the Bank of England. But at the lower setting, it effectively tases the target. We'll be able to use it for self defense as well as against thick metal barriers."

"Wow," I said, handling the gun. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"

Dad frowned more deeply. "Scott, what happened to you upset the entire family. Gordon especially. Brains and Gordon got together to make sure that you're never taken again like that. They devised the new procedure with John and created the new weapon. They didn't want to add to your burden, so nobody has told you about the steps we're taking to protect the entire team." Facing me, he rested his hands on my shoulders. "Never again do I want to hear that my son has disappeared from a rescue and we can't find him anywhere on the planet! I seriously considered closing International Rescue down permanently after we got you home but was talked out of it by your brothers. So, we go forward, older and wiser."

I felt shaken. I'd been so wrapped up in my own nightmares that I'd forgotten how my family was suffering along with me. Now it was up to me to deserve it.


	2. Takeoff

**Introduction:** A few years ago I wrote a Thunderbirds story entitled "Asylum". This is a direct sequel to that work and I recommend you read that story first. It can be found here: s/7574830/1/Asylum

**This one's for JanetM74 who asked for it!**

**Summary:** Scott Tracy, suffering PTSD after being tortured for the secrets of the Thunderbird aircraft, hesitantly goes on duty again, not knowing that he'll face his torturer again.

**Title: Safety, sequel to Asylum**

**Author: Xenitha**

**Reviews: Oh yes! Please!**

**This story takes place six months after Asylum.**

Chapter 2

That night, everyone was quiet, waiting to see how I'd taken the news. I stayed quiet, not wanting to share and tired of being the family's official patient. Finally, Virgil got up from the piano and grabbed me by the arm, led me onto the balcony and shut the door behind us.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well, what?" I returned.

"Do you still want to be part of International Rescue? I know Dad cleared you to fly today; we all know that! Why aren't you out flying Thunderbird One right now, burning a hole in the ozone? So, where is my idiot brother who can't stay away from his aircraft?" Virgil peered at my face through the gathering dusk. "Or did Gleason kill him?"

"No! He didn't kill my spirit! I'm just…more cautious now," I said, running my hands along the railing.

"Just what is it you're afraid of?" Virg asked softly.

I laughed, hearing the harsh tones of my voice. "Failing you. When I was in the asylum, I was…Gleason convinced me…I'd killed Alan and Dad couldn't stand the sight of me. All I wanted was my family back and to fly!" I stared into the dark sky, picking out the patch of space where Thunderbird Five floated. "That was what kept me going. Then I was home and safe and all the fear that had piled up inside let loose, all at once! Like it was safe to feel it all, now. Now I dream of killing Alan by making a bad decision or you because I messed up a rescue."

"But none of that's real, Scott," Virgil said softly. "That was all the drugs and brainwashing."

"I know that. You know that. But the inside of my brain doesn't know that yet! The therapist said it would take some time for all of this to die down, for me to feel safe! I don't…feel safe. I'm not afraid of being hurt or dying, Virg, it's you guys. I'm afraid I'll freeze up at a critical moment and you'll die, you'll all die because I was too…too…broken to lead you out of danger!" I felt the emotions building up inside and clamped them down hard. I wasn't going to cry, not even in front of this brother whose soul was connected to mine since he was born.

It didn't make any difference. From the expression on Virgil's face, I knew that he was picking up on what I was feeling.

"As bad as that?" he asked.

"That's what I'm dreaming when I wake up the house. Last night, you and Two were shot down by the World Navy again. Only that time, Two ditched into the water. I couldn't find you. You were gone, under the waves," I said. "Don't tell anyone, especially Father, what I'm dreaming about."

Virg snorted. "Hell, if anyone understands toxic worry, it's Dad. But no, I won't tell him. You feel able to fly?"

"Do I have a choice? You guys need me. I'll be up in One tomorrow morning, making sure I still know how to fly her!"

"If your nightmares get bad, you know I've got a couch in my room with that afghan Grandma made. You're welcome to it," Virgil said.

"I might take you up on it," I replied, amused at the turnabout our relationship had taken. I was the one Virgil had crawled into bed with when he had nightmares as a kid. Virg, and everybody else except maybe John. John never had nightmares, or at least never admitted to them.

I turned and opened the sliding door, only to see Alan and Gordon huddled up next to it. Seeing the rage on my face, they started backing away.

"S…sorry Scott," Gordon said. "Don't hit me, wouldja? We just wanted…"

I took a deep breath and saw, really saw, the fear and concern on their faces. I hadn't been the calmest or happiest of brothers lately. I felt suddenly ashamed of myself.

"Okay, I won't pound you for listening in," I said, taking a long breath. "I'm sorry, Gordy." It was time I got out of myself and stopped focusing on my own troubles.

The next morning, I was up before dawn. I checked the pool to make sure that Gordon wasn't having an early morning swim. He doesn't like it when the pool starts sliding on him.

Then I was in my bird. To heck with waking the family, I settled in my pilot's chair, did my pre-flight checks and hit the button.

I could feel Thunderbird One's thrusters gathering power beneath me, then the force of the lift-off pushed me back against my seat. As I left the ground, I felt an emotion I hadn't had in six months: joy. I've always had it on take-off, that feeling when you pull away from the ground and you're suddenly free of the earth. You're free, not tied down to a ball of dirt anymore. Instead, you chase the wind, flirt with clouds and look down on everything you've left behind. I fought down a hysterical giggle and settled for a happy grin. I had forgotten just how good flying was and how much I loved it.

I spread her wings and poured more power into my beautiful bird. The sky rumbled around me in a sonic boom as I passed mach one and it kept rumbling around me while I flew faster than sound.

"Happy?" My Dad's face appeared on my view screen.

"Did I wake you?" I asked, hoping he wasn't too mad at me.

"The sound of Thunderbird One taking off is music to my ears. All the boys are up, wondering what rescue you're going out on. I explained that you're just reacquainting yourself with your bird," he said, lifting a coffee mug to his lips. "Would you believe, Virgil was up first and put the coffee on?"

I grinned back. "Will wonders never cease! He's usually the last one up. I can come back if you need me…."

"No need," Father said. "Give her a workout. She hasn't done any fancy flying while you've been grounded." He deepened his voice to a command tone. "You may commence aerobatics!"

"Yes, sir!" I responded and put her into a barrel roll, then a loop-the-loop and ran her through every piece of trick flying I've ever done. She answered the helm as sweetly as she ever has and I finally felt at home, in my bird, in the sky.

The screen lit up again. It was Alan. "Grandma made blueberry waffles. If you want one, you'd better land soon before we finish them off!"

Blueberry waffles? That was one of my weak spots and Alan knew it. "Save a couple for me, Alan?"

"I took good care of your bird, didn't I?" Alan replied. "No dents, dings or scratches. I want your acknowledgment."

Oh. So that's what he was after, huh? "Okay, okay, Alan. Thunderbird One is in tip-top shape. You have taken wonderful care of her and I have noticed no damage to her at all. I thank you."

The screen panned back to show the whole family listening to my admission. Well, okay, he'd taken care of my bird so I might as well tell him so.

"And I even washed and waxed her," Alan said.

"I am grateful," I replied. "Do I get my waffles now?"

"You gotta land first. I'll stand guard and keep Gordon away from them. They're in the oven, waiting."

I shut off down the screen and headed back to base. Somehow my seat felt lumpy…I reached around and beneath my right buttock I found a small plastic bag. Holding it up to the light, colorful candy shone back at me. "Oh, Alan...tsk, tsk, tsk," I said with a grin. I landed quickly and made my way to the kitchen at a sprint to find my waffles and an appreciative audience ready to watch me eat them at top speed.

"So, I didn't dent her, did I?" Alan demanded, holding my plate of waffles hostage at the table.

"You didn't dent her or scratch her," I admitted, deadpan, then pulled a small plastic packet out of my Levi's back pocket. "You did leave something behind," I said, tossing the bag of gummy bears at him.

Alan dropped the plate to catch the packet and blushed bright red. "Um….I might've gotten hungry on that last rescue, you know…"

"Uh huh…" I folded my arms. "Remember, rats in the wiring? No food in the birds except for Two's kitchen?"

Virgil, Gordon and Dad were hiding smiles.

"I'm not on rat patrol again, am I?" Alan slid the plate over. It was still hot and I poured blueberry syrup over it. I took a long luxurious bite and considered. "No rat patrol, Alan. But remember the rules, okay? I'm the one whose bird got trashed the last time." I closed my eyes, tasting the blueberries as my brothers chuckled at Alan's discomfiture.*

Dad called an International Rescue meeting after breakfast. John attended remotely, as usual, Alan, Virgil, Gordy and I were sitting on the couches in the lounge with Brains and Tin-Tin there too. Kyrano wandered around, pouring coffee. Somehow, that was the best cup of coffee, with deeper flavor than I'd noticed in months. I felt like I was slowly waking up from a bad dream.

"I've discussed the new procedures with Scott and we'll have some dry runs over the next week or two to get the bugs out," Dad said. "No more Mobile Control. I don't want any of you to be unprotected targets."

"Is John ready for this?" I asked. "He's usually just an observer on our rescues."

"I'm ready," John said from his transmission. "Brains has created some simulations of prior rescues for me to follow and I've been running them."

"Yeah, but John," I replied. "You really have to be there physically to gauge a lot of it."

"I'll do fine, big brother, just you watch me," John said smugly, as only John could do.

"All right," I answered, a bit perturbed. I was still feeling replaced but under the circumstances I couldn't really complain. I wasn't 100 percent and, I admitted to myself, might never be. Maybe it was best to have John watching my back. I scanned the faces around me. Alan and Gordon both looked confident and a bit excited. They were glad to have me back. Virgil looked worried, but then he'd looked worried ever since they pulled me out of that damned asylum. Dad? He looked confident.

"We start training tomorrow," Dad said. "Brains has sent details of the simulation to each of you. We'll meet in the morning for a final briefing and any questions you might have." He smiled. "Thunderbirds are go, at last!"

*See story: Beginnings


End file.
